


Mother Knows Best

by saendyann



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Decisions, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meddling, Mentions of Mycroft - Freeform, Old Married Couple, Phone Calls, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, mentions of Eurus, refering to Sherlock's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saendyann/pseuds/saendyann
Summary: After a call from his mother Sherlock decides to break away from John. John decides to fight for their friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I publish. English is my second language so let me know if anything sounds weird to the native speaker's ear.

Mummy called. That wasn’t anything bad per se but whenever she called she tried to analyse him as if she were his therapist. It is true that Mrs Holmes before she became Mrs Holmes and before she decided to read mathematics at Cambridge dangled in psychology. The bug that bit her never really let go of her and where better to practice than on her children. Right now it was her middle child that had those horrible problems with his so called best friend who physically abused him, not to talk of the psychological damage. Somehow her son couldn’t see it.  
“He treated you like a hot potato. First he dropped you and then he mashed you up,” she explained to him.  
“It was the other way around,” Sherlock answered subdued.  
“Even worse. I say seclude yourself from that man. He is not worth it …”  
“But he is my best friend, my only friend,” Sherlock interrupted her.  
“No, my dear, you only think that because you love him. But he is like those awful drugs you took. Although they hurt you, you always came back to them. But they can’t give you comfort and this false friend you have there can’t love you back. Anyone who almost kills you and then leaves you as if everything going wrong in his life is your fault is not a person you should shed one tear after.”  
“But it is my fault,” Sherlock said.  
This time his mother interrupted him. “But it isn’t. This wife of him is responsible for her own death. Listen to me. She had it coming a long time. She got more than she deserved. She was able to play house and pretend that she wasn’t a killer. That is far more than you got and you are such a good person, my boy. I tell you, that woman who killed her could just as well have been me. She shot you, for God’s sake. Sweetie, wake up. It is the other way around. Everything that went wrong in your life was because of him. I wish you had never met him.”  
“And I wish Mycroft hadn’t told you the whole story,” Sherlock remarked in a petty tone.  
“He only did it to get back in your good graces after he lied to you about your daughter being dead for years.”  
“Well, he did the right thing for the wrong reason, in both instances,” Mrs Holmes replied.  
Mycroft had in fact told his mother everything that happened between the former flatmates. Mummy, of course, was furious to have had the woman in her house who shot her boy and the man who forgave her for all of her horrendous actions.  
“Did he do it for the child? To keep her safe?” The Holmes matriarch asked in an attempt to redeem Dr Watson in her eyes. But her eldest shook his head along with the explanation that he deduced John truly forgave Mary and was ready to be a loving husband and father.  
And then everything changed. The only reason Mummy would root for her little boy and the doctor to be together was that little joyful bundle called Rosamund. What a unfitting name for a little girl in this century. But who was she to talk of naming children. She would like to be a grandmother. If not via the traditional way, which she couldn’t expect from neither of her children, then maybe by being a step-grandma. And she would spoil that little thing rotten. However, she would also have to buy  
John Watson as her potential son-in-law in this scenario. And this just wasn’t going to happen. She swore to herself in that moment, during the phone call, that she would do everything in her power to keep those two from becoming an item.  
Mycroft had already frightened her concerning this hypothetical partnership. Whereas Mrs Holmes always thought the doctor to be a lady’s man through and through, research and deductions have brought her disgraced son to the conclusion that there might be a chance. Apparently the doctor had visited gay bars with his sister and ended up going home with someone himself. This all according to old security camera footage. He also reportedly had a secret boyfriend in grade 10. So there was at least the potential of John being interested in Sherlock. Their chemistry was undeniable and if you choose to believe Greg Lestrade, Sherlock basically declared his love for his best friend at his wedding.  
No, this could not go on. She had to make him fall out of love, a difficult task if you take in regard what already happened which hadn’t stopped that whole non-sense.

After many “take care of yourself”s and “listen to what is said” Mummy finally hung up.  
The call, however, hung over Sherlock like a ghost. In some way his mother was right. He had endured a lot of pain because of John. Sherlock’s caring was only an advantage for John. If it wasn’t for the detective John would have died thrice over. He would have probably committed suicide because of his PTSD and the only time Sherlock would have seen his name would have been in the obituaries searching for a case. If Sherlock had refused to jump John would have been the first to be shot by a sniper and who knows what would have happened at the manor if Sherlock hadn’t found John in time.  
Sherlock cried. The reasons were manifold. Sure there was a lot of self-pity mixed in there, but mainly it was because he had to let go of John. His so called best friend not only held Sherlock’s heart in his hand, but with it the power to do anything to him, treat him like a rag doll, be his scapegoat and never apologize for anything. And everything just because he loved him. A love that could never be reciprocated, that had begun very early in their acquaintance and, most of all, was very unhealthy.  
On Baker Street in a house with a black door with three golden numbers and one golden letter sat a man in the second storey flat coming to the decision that he had to let go.  
In another house in the suburbs of London another man decided that it was time to see how his best friend was doing who he was already missing after just a few days apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it so far and that the next chapters will be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Someone read this. Thank you for reading, the kudos and the bookmarks <3

The last adventure was great. It was a real thinker and John felt more useful than ever. The case involved a code of dancing men and since John lately took to solving the puzzle section of the papers he came to a conclusion earlier than Sherlock did. The detective was impressed and even mentioned it to John who had difficulties hiding his blush. In general he had difficulties hiding his feelings ever since they put the flat back together. Mary once mentioned that he found John being a good father kind of sexy. John found it weird she felt that way. But now he could see it too with Sherlock. The way he interacted with Rosie, talked to her as if she were a grownup, let John’s heart beat faster and turned his facial expression into a smile.  
Since the Adventure of the Dancing Men, as John dubbed the case, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much it was like the olden days and then again not. Sherlock had forgiven him, he really had. John didn’t even have to apologize, Sherlock just knew how sorry he was, he probably had deduced it. And now there were these new feelings. The glimpse into a future where John could have it all: a family including his daughter and his best friend, work and the adventures. He would ask him, he would ask him today whether he could move back into 221b. Maybe the proximity created by living together would just help the relationship take its course. Maybe they would be friends one day and the next they could be … John was getting ahead of himself. First Sherlock had to say yes, which he probably will and then John could see if there were feelings on his side too. There had to be. He was so forgiving towards him and his friendship came without condition.

John only recently discovered his feelings for his best friend. Before he was in denial. It didn’t matter what others were saying, even if they insisted, John wasn’t really gay. His sister, Harry, was the very first to do so. This was one of the reasons he didn’t speak with her anymore. It was true that he had encounters with men that where of a sexual nature. There were a few guys at the clubs he frequented he took home. Again, it was all because of Harry.  
Back then she claimed she needed a wingman. It took John quite a few weeks to realize that the bars where unisex, but the clubs were mostly visited by male patrons and the odd straight woman. She brought him there for his benefit and they had such a fall-out over it they didn’t speak for half a year. Only Harry’s engagement to Clara brought them back together. John didn’t even know his sister-in-law-to-be until the engagement party. Everything went really quickly. They met, moved in together after a couple of weeks, and Harry popped the question before all the boxes were even unpacked.  
Either way, John felt tricked by his own flesh and blood. He was put into a box by her just because she needed some companionship in there. At least that is what John thought, his sister shouldn’t be the only odd one out in his quite normal family. Every time John confronted her about thinking he was playing for her team, she warmed up the old story about Stephen Edwards.  
He was just a boy who moved to their town when he was 16. Yes, Stephen was very likeable and maybe he was into boys. But only because John was friends with him it didn’t make him gay by proxy. So they touched more than normal friends did, nothing below the waist, they kissed hello and good-bye, something that is very normal in other cultures. Stephen might have come from one of those countries.

Now, John of course knew that he was in love with Stephen and when he heard that Stephen had to move again after less than a year at his school, he was devastated. He cried and he became aggressive and in the end there was only a shell of himself left. It took a lot of time and a lot of girlfriends to fill this shell up again. Stephen was a repressed memory, just like Eurus was for Sherlock. John only was aware that there once was a boy he was very fond of. He didn’t completely erase him, but he tried never to think of him and when he did he thought of him as one of all the other friends he had lost contact with.  
So John had come, with the help of his new therapist, to the conclusion that he is able to have romantic feelings for a man. He was even more aware that he has romantic feelings for a very specific man. For exactly that reason the father of an infant was dressing said infant to go out while singing a song of his own composition: “We’re gonna see Sherlock and it’ll be good. We’re gonna see Sherlock and you agree we should see Sherlock, sweet and clever Sherlock, brave fantastic Sherlock.”  
Doing a little dance consisting mainly in wiggling his butt, Rosie couldn’t help but giggle. In this state it was much easier putting her jacket and shoes on. She was always such a happy and curious child. And with her bright demeanour she brought so much joy into John’s life once he had gotten over her mother’s death. This same brightness also help Sherlock to better cope with his demon’s.  
“You like Sherlock, don’t you? Yes, he is our favourite person in the whole wide world. Of course you are my favourite person. That’s right, that’s right.” John used his baby voice and lifted Rosie’s jacket to blow a raspberry on her jumper-clad belly.  
“Wouldn’t it be great to have him around all the time?” john asked his daughter, now whispering as if they had a secret. “Maybe I’ll ask him if we could move into Baker Street. You will love it there. It is the most fun I ever had, living there, never a boring day, even if your Uncle Sherlock will tell you differently.  
“I know you think it will be dangerous but if you look at it in a different light, everything bad that happened to us was because of Sherlock’s sister and your mummy. And your mummy gave her life so that we can be safe. So you see, life will be pretty good once we are back with Sherlock. Anyway, this place is much too big for the two of us, don’t you think”  
John reasoned with himself since the little one was much more interested in the plushy she had dangling from the handle of her Maxi Cosi. John carried his daughter outside in her seat. She was really getting heavy. Maybe it was time for a different seat.

Arriving at the black door car seat in hand, John pulled out his keys he never gave back after moving out. He found Sherlock in his armchair looking at his mobile, frowning. There was no way he hadn’t already deduced that someone was standing in his flat. It took him a while to look up from his mobile at his two visitors. John saw in an instant that something was wrong. Sherlock had a sad look upon him, almost eerie.  
“What’s up? Is anything wrong? With Eurus or your parents?” John was prompted to say.  
“No, everything is in order with my parents and every other living relative of mine,” Sherlock explained looking back at his device.  
John put the Maxi Cosi down, unbuckled Rosie, and lifted her into his arms.  
“Look who’s here, Rosie. It’s Sherlock,” John said in an attempted to cheer Sherlock up. He also tried to not use baby talk since he knew how much his friend despised it.  
Sherlock lifted his arms to receive his goddaughter and placed a kiss on her forehead. The frown disappeared and was replaced by a little, yet sad, smile.  
“There is something going on. Is it a case or … I don’t know are you having a bad day?”  
“No. What are you on about? I’m fine. Did you just come here to bother me?” Sherlock tried not to sound too mad. He could already see how the little girl on his lap was changing her mood. It was fascinating how much emotions children show, however, you can seldom deduce what causes these mood swings since they don’t last very long.  
The mobile pinged again and Sherlock had difficulties balancing the child in one hand and the phone in the other. Her father came to help him which only caused him to get angry.  
“Don’t take her away,” he said in a louder tone turning his upper body with the child in his arms away.  
“I didn’t want to. I just wanted to help,” John said. He was getting agitated himself now too and the sensitive child was feeling the tension between the two adults. She started to squirm which made Sherlock only angrier at John.  
“Great. Now she wants to get away. Here just take her,” the younger man said and held out the child who reached for her father.  
Sherlock took his mobile, read the message, and quickly typed something. Then he threw it at the opposite armchair where it landed after a few bounces.  
“What or who made you so upset? And don’t tell me you aren’t,” John asked, clearly taken aback by his friend’s actions.  
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not a great time for a visit to be honest.”  
“Oh, so you are working on a case. What is it?” John asked excited hoping to get over this little episode and just have some fun trying to solve a puzzle like they had done so often.  
“No, not a case. I just need to think. You can leave Rosie here if you wanted me to babysit. Otherwise it would be better for both of you to leave.”  
Disappointed, John put Rosie back in her baby seat sitting on the coffee table. He started talking to her while his words were actually directed at Sherlock.  
“Let’s go, Rosie. I thought your godfather would be happy to see us which is obviously not the case. So we won’t bother him anytime soon.”  
John was almost out of the door, deep disappointment painted on his face, when Sherlock called him back.  
“Wait, I’m sorry. It’s just… I have a hard decision to make and ..”  
“Well I can help you with it. I’m pretty good at making decisions, being a doctor and all that,” John suggested.  
“No,” Sherlock said and banished his acute problem into the broom cupboard of his mind palace marked procrastination.  
“Let’s forget about it and do something …. fun?” Sherlock said trying to behave like a normal human. John of course never wanted him to behave like a normal human and laughed at that. Something fun was something wholly different for his former flatmate than for the rest of humanity.  
In the end they completed a 3D jigsaw puzzle of a DNA double helix structure. As there were swallowable parts, the toddler had to remain in her play cod which had been a part of the flat’s setup ever since she was able to crawl.  
All in all it was a nice afternoon. That’s why John was prompted to just go ahead and ask the question for which he had basically come.  
“I was thinking and …. well we are best friends and you are Rosie’s godfather and I think it would be nice for her … what I’m trying to say is ….”  
“No, you can’t move back in here.”  
“What? Why not?” John said astonished, disappointment back, weighing his whole insides down.  
“I sacrificed enough for you, don’t you think?”  
John was speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine John to be a goofy father who sometimes makes a fool of himself just to make his daughter laugh.  
> His little song sounds in my head like a blues (but a happy one, if that exists).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! I just wrote myself into a corner of which I, hopefully, got out to everyone's satisfaction.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice anything for me, Sherlock. I just thought … you enjoy having us here and … Rosie, she is always so excited when we come to visit…” John tried to explain, but really he couldn’t. Everything he hoped for just disappeared into thin air.  
Sherlock was quiet. He thought everything was said. He once again looked at his cell phone where he was in a conversation with his mother.  
John is coming over.  
Will you tell him?  
I’m not sure.  
I was thinking and talking about it with your father. Did he ever apologize for sending you to hospital?  
Why are you talking with father about that?  
Because we talk. Now did he?  
Not in so many words.  
So he didn’t.

Cursed be his brother for showing their mother how to send text messages. It took her minutes to reply but she manged to question him now also via his favourite means of communication.  
“You never apologized,” Sherlock blurted out. As much as he didn’t want his mother to get into his mind, this was something he couldn’t get over. It wasn’t like he needed an apology. He had forgiven John from the beginning because he was acting out of grief. The fact that John apparently thought he had nothing to apologize for, was the thing that actually hurt.  
“I thought you knew, you must have deduced it,” John explained.  
“Feeling sorry is nothing to be deduced. It is something to be expressed,” the younger man countered.  
Again, John didn’t know what to reply. Sure, he should have apologized but it was hard. What he did, he knew, was unforgivable, and yet, Sherlock had done so without blinking an eye. Saying sorry well after the fact would have been like ripping the wound wide open again. Speaking of wounds…  
“Mary has never given you an apology and you never asked for one.” Saying it he felt like a child. ‘But she did it first.’  
“And you haven’t either,” he added.  
“Yes, I have. I begged for your forgiveness,” Sherlock countered.  
“Oh. Yes, you did,” John remembered the episode in the tube car. “Well, you tricked me into forgiving you.”  
He chuckled a bit to lighten the mood. His counterpart wasn’t amused and looked at him blank faced. John hated it when he did that pretending he didn’t have any feelings.  
“I could arrange for another bomb to force you to forgive me. Hey, do you think your sister might have r one left lying around?”  
He tried to cheer him up with black humour because that is what they are, giggling at crime scenes, having fun solving a murder.  
“You had your chance with the last one,” Sherlock replied and struggled a bit keeping a straight face and keeping any emotions out of his voice.  
“What if I tell you, I knew where the off switch was but you had already forgiven me by that point so I just let it run its course?” John grinned at his former flatmate trying to get any reaction out of him.  
“Don’t tell me you are behind everything after all,” Sherlock said in mock shock.  
They both reminisced about the night at the pool. Back then everything seemed so easy. Ok, they tried to defeat a criminal who arranged crimes for other people, quite a clever business idea if you think about it. They had only known each other for a few months but they clicked from the beginning. Sherlock knew what his new friend craved and gave it to him. At that time they probably thought being tied to a bomb with a psychotic genius was the worst that could happen. It was still fun when they went to Baskerville and Sherlock made his declaration of friendship. What would it have been like if John had admitted to his feelings then? Everything could have been different. No doubts, no secrets. At least, he hoped so.  
How everything just could have gone so completely wrong? And still, they were still on speaking terms, despite everything, they were still calling each other friend. Something like this was worth fighting for. Who in this world can say they have looked into the face of death and danger multiple times and came out on the other side because someone was sacrificing everything for you.  
“We run into a lot of bombs, don’t we?” John remarked.  
“Yeah, I think it would have been actually more convenient if you had been in bomb disposal rather than in the medical corps,” Sherlock quipped.  
“I’ll try to get a retraining,” the army doctor quipped right back.  
They both shared a quiet laugh and forgot for a moment what they were fighting about before. When it came back to them they stopped laughing.  
“Do you want me to go?” John asked worriedly.  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered shortly.  
“Am I allowed to come back?”  
He considered. “I don’t know.”  
“Is this friendship worth saving for you?”  
This time he didn’t have to think about his answer. It came from within, a place where his best friend still dwelled, a place people call one’s heart.  
“Absolutely.”  
“Then I will do my best, though I still have to figure out what that is.”  
“Yes, do that.”  
“Just so you know, I have sacrificed a lot for you too, and I still would”  
And with that father and daughter left 221b not knowing what would come next. The man surely had imagined his visit to go very differently. Ideally, ending with a snogging session. How on earth could he ever turn this situation to his desired outcome? Sherlock was acting odd today. He wasn’t the kind of person who blows hot and cold. But this wasn't him today. It went from bad to good to horrible and then Sherlock was looking at his phone without typing anything. It was just not normal. Maybe his experience at Sherrinford had changed him more than anyone wanted to admit.  
Was it the woman? She was always so rude towards the faithful companion. He used to think it was because she thought she was superior to him in the mental department and that she and Sherlock would make a much better team. Was there any possibility that she was now trying to drive a wedge between them so she could insert herself into the detective’s life again? She has always, from their first meeting, been a manipulative pain in the arse. John didn’t even know why he ever rooted for her and Sherlock to become a couple. Surely, he didn’t need another manipulative woman in his life after what he had gone through with his sister.  
If she was really the cause, John had to stop it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock's ears were glowing. He was again forced to listen to his mother on the telephone. Fortunately, the topic hasn't shifted to John, yet. Mummy would be elevated if she knew that he hadn't made an appearance for almost three weeks now.  
He has texted once, asking whether there was a case to be solved. After a negative response he invited the detective for dinner at his house, under the pretence that he must be bored without any cases. The other man declined.  
Since then their communication was dead. Mummy had promised that everything would be better once he cut his abuser out of his life, but Sherlock never thought in these categories. There were people who liked him or didn't, some were only fascinated by him. Only when he found someone who liked him, which didn’t happen very often, he could decide whether he liked them back or not. Sherlock still liked John and he liked Rosie. John hadn’t abused him, not in the actual way. Abusing meant you treat someone badly repeatedly. This wasn’t the case with John. He made one mistake, Sherlock made a dozen a day. They were minor, sometimes not so minor, and didn’t hurt physically.  
“Maybe I’m the one who is abusing John,” Sherlock told his Mom, once she had steered the conversation to the topic that had become her favourite lately.  
“What do you mean, dear? You have rarely acted violently your whole life. You get irritated and anxious but never violent. I raised you better”  
“Did you know that shortly before John attacked me I was about to attack another man with a scalpel?” He said to shock her and get a reaction out of her.  
She had one, she gasped. “Were you on drugs again? Did you have a relapse?” She asked in a stern tone.  
Sherlock was surprised that his brother hadn’t blabbed about that, still the deductive skills of their mother, though not on par with her sons, were remarkable.  
“You would never do without being under the influence,” she remarked.  
“John was under …,” he began but was interrupted by his mother.  
“He is a junky too?” she almost shouted out, baffled.  
“No, he just lost his wife. Traumas are also mind altering. It changes the brain. You should know that having dabbled in psychology yourself.  
“I wasn’t really interested in the anatomical side of it all,” she admitted.  
“Yeah, well, I guess one can trust you as much in those matters as a lonely hearts columnist,” he threw back at her. Only now, he realised it was true. His mother wasn’t an expert in love matters. She had met her husband in university and that was that. According to both it was love at first sight. They have never looked at anyone else since then. Everyone was telling the young mathematician student not to let her live be ruined by a half-wit with whom she soon would sit at home taking care of a screaming brood. She didn’t listen and had it both: the family she had always been dreaming of, although a bit out of the norm, and being an independent woman in a field dominated by men. Despite everything, the two of them never had many problems because Mr Holmes was always someone who went out of his way not to get into an argument. He always said, “Yes, dear” to avoid any conflict hoping everything will dissolve into thin air. Only if it was something important to him he would fight tooth and nail. His wife only wanted to be right all the time and he was happy if he can pat her bum every now and again. Sherlock shuddered at that thought.  
“That is rude, Sherlock,” the mother reprimanded her son.  
“Either way, it’s true. Everyone is always telling me how I’m supposed to feel. First Mycroft tells me I shouldn’t feel anything, then John tells me I should fall in love, now you tell me I should hate him.”  
“With him?” Mummy asked astonished, referring to the falling in love thing.  
“No, not with him, with some woman I haven’t seen in years,” he replied truthfully, just because his mother can’t be lied to.  
“Well, what about this woman?” she prodded.  
“Mummy, I thought we had the unwritten rule that you wouldn’t ask me about my love life because there is nothing to tell. I have my work that’s all.” He had to use a lot of energy to keep himself from shouting at her.  
“But, sweetie, if there is a woman you find interesting…” she tried to reason.  
“I don’t find that woman interesting,” he, now having lost all his energy and restrains, shouted into the mouthpiece. “I find no woman interesting. I find John interesting and you forbade me to see him ever again.” He felt like a little child again who wasn’t allowed to see his best friend because he had the cold or it was too late and he threw a tantrum. He didn’t want to throw one even back then. He would be accused of being childish, even back then when he still was one. Nobody listened if he explained something rationally so he had to shout which made his eyes tear which made him look like a toddler even more.  
“You are an adult man. I just give you some advice. What you do with it is your problem,” she now said with an air of denying any fault on her side.  
“So if I say, I will go over to John right now and, I don’t know, ask him to marry me, you wouldn’t pull all the stops to keep that from happening.”  
Mummy was silent all of sudden. It seemed as if she wasn’t even on the phone anymore. All her son could hear was a low murmur.  
“No, of course not. I want you to be happy. We might just have different ideas about what that entails,” she said, unexpectedly reasonable again.  
“All right, for me that entails John and Rosie in whatever capacity.”  
He didn’t even listen what else his mother had to say. Thank God his father intervened and regarded this matter important enough to get into a fight. He stuck a note on the note board in his mind palace to send his father a card and thanking him, the older man hasn’t learned how to text.  
On the other end of the line Mr Holmes patted his wife’s bum and said, “Let him make his own decisions. Like I said, just imagine someone had come between us. Life would have been very different.”  
“Unbearable, my love,” she corrected kissing her husband of almost fifty years on the cheek.  
“Maybe John is the sane one after all,” he started to wonder out loud.  
“What do you mean?” his wife asked with equal measures of curiosity and amusement.  
“My theory for a successful relationship is, there must always be a down-to earth part and a …. let’s say … unusual one. The task of the former is to keep the latter grounded and not have him act out.  
“And the task of the latter?” she asked, now with more amusement than curiosity.  
“is to make the former’s life interesting,” he concluded. “And I think we both are fulfilling our respective tasks marvellously.”  
They kissed briefly on the mouth before the phone Mrs Holmes was still holding in her hand rang again. She looked at the caller’s ID and sighed.  
“Hello, Mummy,” she answered.  
“I’ve heard you are making the life of my favourite grandson difficult,” the 102-year old voice said.  
“Not anymore. And I told you, you shouldn’t pick favourites or at least keep it to yourself, she admonished her mother.  
“Come on, we both know he is your favourite, too. And you always gloated in front of Rudi how I liked you better. Come to think about it, maybe that’s the reason he was dressing as a woman,” the last sentence she muttered more to herself.  
“Anyway, let the boy live his life. Nobody kept you from marrying your man. You probably would have eloped.”  
“How does my mother know about what is going on with Sherlock and me?” Mrs Holmes asked holding the phone away from her mouth and looking at her husband suspiciously.  
“I told her, just in case you hadn’t listened to me.”  
“I always listen to you,” Mrs Holmes replied, knowing it was a lie.  
Both the octogenarian and the centenarian laughed at that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating only now. Let me also thank you for the kudos and bookmarks and generally liking this fic. It means a lot.

The first thing Sherlock wanted to do was to actually go over to John’s and maybe, if convenient, ask him to marry him. But first he needed to visit his mindpalace. He had to figure out which of his thinking was really himself and which was planted by his mother. He went into John’s room and ripped out all the potted plants including the roots. He opened boxes finding out that his mother had put some there. So he put them in the bin. Sherlock wasn’t mad at John he knew that he was guided by grief and to some extend by guilt. He didn’t really need an apology because of the way John acted around him he showed how sorry he was. Anyway, isn’t that what people always say? Actions speak louder than words. John had gone through Sherrinford with him, he rebuilt the flat, he helped with cases again and he trusted Sherlock to look after his daughter. This rebuilt trust was much more important to Sherlock than a few words.

As soon as everything looked respectable, the king of the palace looked around again and found that everything was in the open, nothing about it bothered him. He came back to reality to find that Mrs Hudson not only had left a batch of gingersnaps, his favourite, but also today’s mail. He grabbed a cookie and while nibbling on it he inspected the mail. The crime magazines he had subscribed to didn’t seem very interesting this time around. There was also a request to solve a case, Sherlock deduced. The handwriting and the fact that was a letter told him his potential client was an old man who apparently hadn’t got any relatives or neighbours who could help him draft an email. When he was about to open the letter, expecting not a lot from it, his eyes were caught by a red envelope. He didn’t even turn the envelope around to deduce who might have sent it. He opened it and found a card, a greeting card. Sherlock had never received greeting cards of any kind. He didn’t participate in this odd English tradition of collecting Christmas cards featuring Father Christmas or robins, whatever they had to do with the festive season, and hang them above the mantle. That place was already taken by more important stuff. 

He looked at the cover of the card and was almost assaulted by the bright colouring. The words there read “ I am really, so very, utterly, irrevocably, incredibly, infinitely, completely, truly, deeply…” he had to open the card and found a picture of a saw a hyphen and the letters ry. Beneath it the sentence continued in handwriting “for blaming you, beating you up, and for generally being a shite friend. John”  
It was horribly cheesy and if Sherlock was honest with himself he appreciated the sentiment and found it a bit funny despite loathing puns. With a slight smile on his face he put the card between the skull’s teeth and was about to open the other letter when the bell rang. 

He heard his landlady welcoming the newcomer and knew from her intonation that it was John plus offspring. John had posted the card via postal services, the envelope was stamped, therefore he had kept his promise to not come back for the time being. So why was he here now? Maybe so Sherlock could see his goddaughter? Or just so Mrs Hudson could see hers. Her father didn’t have a row with her.  
But then B-flat’s inhabitant heard the heavy steps of a man carrying a child upstairs. He knocked on the door that had lately always been closed. Sherlock didn’t want to seem too eager. He was the one who sent his friend away just only to figure out he was manipulated into doing so. How could he tell John that he was taken in by a female family member once again? He was really stupid and John didn’t like him for being stupid. He liked the sleuth for being the cleverest person he knew. But now he was a 40-year old man who listened to his mother when she forbade him to see his best friend again. How pathetic. Sherlock turned the doorknob and looked into is love’s kind eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gotten a few comments condemning the mother’s behaviour. I too don’t find it right that she is telling her son what to do, although, she has a few good points. Nevertheless, it is his decision.

Three weeks, it had been three weeks since John had seen Sherlock. It was unimaginable that there was ever a time John gladly lived with not having seen him for so long. His mind was split. If he went ahead and just visited, maybe under some pretence, there was the risk of being kicked out immediately, making everything just worse. On the other hand, his life was boring. He had work, he had Rosie, and he had football matches to watch, and also love sickness. He was reminded again of his youth. The old emotions of anger and sadness came up again. He felt restless. He had sent the card which he spent hours looking for. He hoped the one he finally decided on expressed his deep regret and maybe painted one of those sweet smiles on Sherlock’s face. He imagined a dozen scenarios in which Sherlock opened the envelope and smiled or ripped it apart or stabbed it to the mantle.  
One day he just couldn’t take it anymore. He buckled Rosie up and drove towards Westminster. During the drive he considered what to tell Sherlock. Did he just wanted to check or actually wanted to see Mrs Hudson or did Rosie say his name for the first time? The latter wasn’t true. John, however, heard his daughter recently mutter a word that sounded like “shluk”. “Da” and “pea” were the only words she had already perfected and used in the correct context.

Finding a parking space was a nightmare. He had to carry Rosie Almost from the end of Baker Street to their destination. Relief and anticipation crept over him, once he saw the entrance. He took out his keys and entered the flat. Mrs Hudson was just mopping the stairs when the front door was unlocked.  
“Oh, John, Rosie, how lovely,” she cooed and leaned her mop against the banister in order to hug John and with him her goddaughter whom he was carrying in his arms.  
“Hello Mrs Hudson. How is everything?” John asked to be polite. He still hadn’t thought of a way to approach the man in the upper storey. So he proceeded to exchange niceties with his former landlady. She fetched a few things she had knitted for the girl: a little pig, socks, and a bobble hat. Rosie began to play with the bobble instead of the pig when all the new stuff was presented to her.  
Her father meanwhile became a little impatient. He glanced up and listened to figure out if Sherlock was even in. Mrs Hudson noticed prompt and informed him that her tenant has been a right nuisance the last couple of weeks. He was loud when he came home at odd hours, refused to eat her baked goods, and insulted the dog she was knitting for Rosie, remarking that it looked more like a pig.  
“Well, we’ll say hello to him then, won’t we.” With that the two Watsons made their way up the stairs. Just as he had knocked his mobile began to ring. He didn’t hesitate answering it, thinking it might be Sherlock not wanting to speak in person. When he uttered his hello the door swung open and there was Sherlock beaming at him. He was so distracted by the true happiness Sherlock broadcasted he didn’t even hear what the person on the phone was saying.  
Once he caught himself he listened more closely. “just he was very down after everything that happened and I was informed that I was wrong and should mind my own business.”  
“Excuse me, who is this?” John asked, not being able to make sense of the snippet of conversation.  
“It’s Mrs Holmes. I told you before. Haven’t you been listening?” The eye roll was almost palpable.   
“No, I’m with your son right now. I’m not sure why you are calling me.” John explained.  
Sherlock, upon deducing (not very hard considering John said “your son”)who it was on the other end of the line, grabbed the mobile out of John’s hand and proceeded to talk angrily into the mouthpiece.  
“I thought you didn’t want to meddle anymore and now you go ahead and bother John.”  
“I just wanted to apologize to him too,” Mommy explained.  
“He doesn’t even know what for.”  
“Well then, explain it to him and tell him I’m sorry. Uh, and I hope you weren’t serious when you said you wanted to propose to him right away.”  
With that the phone call ended and Sherlock handed John his phone back. He placed Rosie in her play pen.  
“What was that about?” John asked. “What was she apologizing for?”  
“She was the one who blew up all the dust. She told me to cut you out of my life.” Sherlock was embarrassed to confess that he had listened to his mother despite being an adult man having not lived with his parents for over 20 years.  
“Well, now we know where your sister has her superpowers from,” John smiled. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t even remarking how pathetic Sherlock’s actions were. And he was right; it was Eurus all over again. The women in his family really had a talent for manipulation. Even Granny had the power to make him do anything she wanted to. She was the only person in the world who received a Christmas card from him every year, even in those years he was undercover.   
“It runs in the family, I guess.”  
“Right, but Mycroft and you aren’t as impressive.”  
“I was thinking about my Granny. Maybe it’s just in the female line.”  
Both grinned, happy to be able to speak normally again.  
“So, you weren’t really mad at me?” John asked hopefully.  
“Maybe a bit. Nothing a nice greeting card couldn’t rectify.” He smiled at John who smiled back.  
“I love you,” he said out of the blue.  
Sherlock stopped grinning. This was the one thing he wanted to hear for such a long time and yet something bothered him.  
“Why do you love me all of a sudden? You always insisted you were not gay.”  
This wasn’t the reaction John had hoped for either. He had thought his feelings were reciprocated. But on the other hand he could understand were his love was coming from. It was a 180 degree turn. Totally different from what was generally known about John.  
“I just never let myself think about it. You know sometimes you just know if you think about something you will come to a decision you might not be comfortable with. But if you never allow yourself to think you can just continue living in the status quo.” This was the first explanation that came to John’s mind. He knew he had loved Sherlock for a long time but he had again supressed his feelings. Being bi always meant for him that he can pick and choose who he wanted to be with. So to make things easier he would always choose women. Now he finally had to admit that his thinking was wrong.   
“So why did you allow yourself to think about it?” Sherlock asked. There was only curiosity in his voice, though John thought he had every right to act hostile.  
“Because I had to. It was the elephant in the room,” John chuckled, thinking about the time they found an actual, non-metaphorical elephant in a room.  
“Before, I was “not gay”, you were dead, I was engaged and then married and then mad at you, but now … now there is nothing holding me back.”  
“So you decided to love me?” Sherlock asked astonished. In his worldview there was no way a person could decide to love another. Otherwise he would have chosen not to do so.   
“That’s not what I meant,” John back-paddled.  
“But it is,” Sherlock argued. “You just said that you made the conscious decision not to think about your feelings. “  
John knew he was in deep. It did sound bad. There was Sherlock, apparently in love with him, asking why he didn’t have the courage to love him back.  
“I’m sorry. I am here now. My feelings were always there, I just wasn’t able to admit them. Wasn’t it the same with you? You despise emotions. You delete things that are inconvenient to you.”  
“I would never delete my love for you.”  
John was relieved for a second. There was the proof that Sherlock did love him back. But they were arguing about lost time, it was ridiculous.  
“So let me summarise,” John began. “I love you, you love me, there is nothing that is keeping us from each other, in the past we weren’t able to make it, for various reasons.” John raised his index to stop Sherlock from giving a counterargument at this point. “There were various reasons. Death, marriage, denial, death again. But now we’re here, everything is out in the open. Do you really want to fight?”  
Sherlock let out a long breath. “No,” he admitted. So John did the only thing he needed to seal their love. He kissed him. His hands were cradling that curly had. He backed away an inch just to look into those bright, unusual eyes. He attached his lips again until he broke the kiss just to hug the taller man. He felt strong arms around his ribcage that seemed to never want to let go. They continued to snog a little longer only interrupted by smiles and loving glances. John was right, nothing had to be said anymore. Well, maybe one thing.  
“Does that mean, Rosie and I can move back in?” John asked hopefully, taking his daughter from the pen so Sherlock could see into her irresistible face. John was making a pouting face.  
“I’ll have to ask my mother,” Sherlock joked, taking his phone from his pocket for comical effect.   
He noticed a new message.  
“What is it?” John asked when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes lingered on the screen.  
“It’s my Granny, “Sherlock answered, contemplating weather he should tell John what the message said.  
“You still have a grandmother?” John asked. He already wondered what she must be like. “What was she writing?”  
“She wanted me to know that Grandpa’s wedding ring is still available.” That earned Sherlock another kiss.  
“She is my mother’s mother and she’s 102 years old living in Cornwall. I’m just wondering who taught her to text.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. Thanks for sticking with me until the end <3


End file.
